“Is that so?” he murmured, teasing and low. “Then explain something to me, sweetheart. How exactly are we not close? After everything we’ve shared?”
Once, that closeness had made my heart soar. Now it sent unease racing through my veins. I shifted in his grip—and then I saw it. A faint smear of lipstick staining his collar.
The burns around my wrist pulsed painfully, each throb echoing the betrayal I hadn’t escaped. Tears rose before I could stop them, hot and traitorous.
“Sofia… what’s wrong?” His voice changed instantly, confidence giving way to alarm. He rolled up my sleeve, revealing the angry marks beneath.
His face darkened. “When did this happen? Who did this? Why didn’t you tell me?”
The concern in his eyes looked real. And somehow, that hurt more than indifference ever could. Had he truly erased the banquet from his memory so easily?
I said nothing.
I stood there, torn between ripping away the illusion he clung to—or letting him continue believing everything between us was still untouched, still normal, still his to keep.
“Enough,” he said quietly, firm but gentle. “Stop crying. I’ll deal with it.”